


Good Grief

by Dredfulhapiness



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Iron Dad, Post-Endgame, Post-Spider-Man: Far From Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:22:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25252315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dredfulhapiness/pseuds/Dredfulhapiness
Summary: Peter was left alone with his thoughts.He distracted himself by looking at the tattoo designs lining the walls. There were the basics— naked women, badass animals, daggers with hearts. His eyes scanned over them without much interest. There were a few cool ones: a picture frame full of Star Wars designs, a cat’s cradle between two hands, a twisting ouroboros.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	Good Grief

“Family member’s handwriting?”

“Something like that.”

The tattoo artist looked at Peter over the top of his iPad. The back of his stylus was tucked into the corner of his mouth. He was a tall, rugged looking fellow, with tattoos that stretched up his arms and onto his back. A tapestry of art. It made Peter self-conscious. Maybe he should get something bigger, too. Something more painful.

“I’ll get the stencil made up,” the artist said. “It’ll take a few minutes and then I can take you right back.”

“Great,” Peter said with a thin-lipped smile. “Thanks.”

The artist disappeared into the back room. Peter was left alone with his thoughts. Beyond a partition, he could hear the buzz of a tattoo gun and quiet murmuring. A conversation.

He distracted himself by looking at the tattoo designs lining the walls. There were the basics— naked women, badass animals, daggers with hearts. His eyes scanned over them without much interest. There were a few cool ones: a picture frame full of Star Wars designs, a cat’s cradle between two hands, a twisting ouroboros.

He clicked the pen he’d used to sign the consent form. He was sat right in front of the window, and the August sun was beaming right on the back of his neck.

He cleared his throat, then cracked his back. He bounced his knee, and picked at his nails, and then he went back to looking at the designs.

A flash of green is what caught his eye. It was just below the counter of the front desk, and he had to slouch to look at it. It was The Hulk, sneering and flexing, a car half-crushed between his fists.

Peter’s lips parted, and he chuckled. Quickly, he snapped a picture and sent it to Bruce with the caption, “this you?”

Above it was Cap’s shield. Beside that was Thor’s hammer. The red hourglass of Black Widow. Peter’s tongue peeked between his teeth as he eyed the designs up. He scanned over the Iron Man designs: helmets, and full-body action poses, and arc reactors.

He looked, instead, at the emblematic spider above it. Beside that, a face, red and webbed, with sharp ovals for eyes.

“Interested in one of those while you’re here?” The artist asked from behind him. Peter looked over his shoulder.

“Nah,” he said, the tip of his finger fondly tracing the web spun on the paper. “Not my style.” He stood up straight. “A lot of people get Spider-Man?”

The artist shrugged. “A handful a month. You said your arm?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah, right here.” He drew a straight line parallel to the juncture of his elbow with his finger. The artist took his wrist in hand and held his arm out straight.

“You want it facing out or facing you?”

“Me,” Peter said.

“People usually want Iron Man,” the artist explained as he pressed the stencil to Peter’s skin. “And Captain America’s popularity’s gone down since the whole time travel stunt.”

Peter kept his eyes on the artist’s fingertips against his arm. He didn’t want to think about people walking around with Tony’s face on their body. He didn’t want to think about memorials.

He pulled the paper away. The tattoo stared up at Peter.

“Look in the mirror,” he said. “Check placement, size. Make sure it’s what you want, because you can’t change it later.”

Peter stared at his reflection in the mirror. He turned his arm over one way, then the other, noticed the way the light caught parts of the tattoo.He bent his arm, and instead of collapsing it bulged. It refused to fold in on itself.

“It’s perfect,” Peter said, and the words caught in his throat like they were sticking to honey. He swallowed it down.

“Great. You can go sit over there, then.” He motioned with his head toward an empty chair.

It reminded Peter of the chairs they have you give blood in. The arms were long and broad, the back reclined. The comparison spiked when the artist asked, “You have a tendency to pass out?” As he sat in the stool beside Peter.

Peter’s phone buzzed. He snuck a peek while the artist messed with the gun. A text from Bruce, _You better not be getting that._

Peter shook his head. “Nope.”

“This your first tattoo?” He asked with a chuckle. He looked up to find Peter staring at him, nose scrunched. “It’s obvious. You’re nervous. It’s not gonna hurt too bad, I promise. It’s just line work.”

—

May stared, open mouthed, eyebrows frozen halfway up her forehead. “… Oh,” she said carefully. “When you said you were going out to celebrate being a legal adult, this isn’t what I expected?”

“What do you think?” Peter asked nervously.

“It’s small,” she said, relieved.

“It’s Tony’s handwriting,” Peter said, and her mouth parted a little more. She let out a breath, a small _oh._

The shock on her face mitigated. She nodded minutely.

“It looks great, Peter,” she admitted quietly. “I think he’d like it.”

—

Pepper held his arm at the elbow, wordlessly tracing the sentence with her index finger. She was frowning, her eyebrows pushed together. She sniffed.

“Pepper?” Peter asked, snaking his neck to try and get a good look at her face.

She snapped to attention, let go of his arm. She ranthe knuckle of her thumb under her eyes, and sniffed again.

“Sorry,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I was thinking about all the jokes he’d be making.”

Peter’s exhale came out as a chuckle.

“Do _you_ like it?” He asked cautiously. Her eyes were still trained on her husband’s handwriting.

Pepper swallowed. She covered her mouth with her hand, fingers splayed. She exhaled, loudly. “Of course I do,” she said. “I just… They did a great job. With the handwriting.”

“Yeah… They did.”

—

The city was oddly quiet. It was the kind of night that should have been lively— a Friday in October— but a storm had blown through in the afternoon and the city had spent the evening in a sleepy daze. It glinted in the moonlight, lights from apartments a reflection of the stars on the slick pavement.

The roof was damp when Peter sat down. He crossed his legs and rested his elbow on his knee. He stared up at the mural and tried to ignore the cramp that formed in his heart when he noticed the cracks in the paint. Already, it was wearing away.

“How did you do it?” Peter asked the larger-than-life ode to Tony.

He thought, for a brief moment, that this was a rude start. He hadn’t been here since the first time he found the mural, when the sight of it had stolen the breath from his lungs.

“The glasses are a lot of power,” He said. “Like, a _lot,_ and I know my whole thing is great responsibility, but I’m so worried I’ll…”

He blinked, and he saw a drone chasing their bus through the Alps. He saw himself handing them over to Beck.

Without him asking, the nanotech parted, just below his elbow. Peter stared down at the words.

_I trust you._

He cleared his throat.

“You’ll never guess who my roommate is,” he changed the subject. “You know Oscorp? They bought Stark Towers during The Blip. Norman Osborn is the founder and the CEO and all that jazz— his son. Harry. He’s pretty cool. We’ve got a few classes together, and we study and grab dinner. Pepper keeps making jokes about corporate espionage, though, so I think I gotta keep an eye on her…”

Peter talked, and the city stirred just a little. His suit righted itself. Somewhere in New Jersey, there was a fireworks display. Peter talked, and he felt better. He felt at home.

Tony Stark trusted him.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while listening to a Little Fall of Rain on repeat ... 
> 
> As always, feel free to come talk to me on Tumblr @dredfulhapiness ! I'm always down to talk head canons, or fic requests, or whatever else!


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